


On Principle

by penultimatepenguin



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Alternate Universe - Real World, F/M, No VFD AU, No fortune AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-09-15 12:19:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16933140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penultimatepenguin/pseuds/penultimatepenguin
Summary: He’s nervous, and rightfully so. It’s not everyday that the person whose life you single-handedly ruined asks to see you. If he’s lucky, she’s stood him up.





	1. EXT. CITY PARK

If this had been one of his scripts, he knew exactly how he would write the scene. From a disembodied vantage point, he could see himself as if he were in the audience, looking up from below to see his own profile. 

_EXT. CITY PARK - DAY  
OLAF sits alone at one of three concrete and stone chess tables set up in a row across the stage. He cranes his neck left and right, drumming his fingers against his folded arms. He’s nervous, and rightfully so. It’s not everyday that the person whose life you single-handedly ruined asks to see you. If he’s lucky, she’s stood him up._

It was easier to think of it in this way, instead of dwelling on the gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Over the past four years, he had used so many strategies to not face that feeling. A lifetime of unfortunate events, acquaintances and their consequences had trained him well. 

Rather than keep on scanning the greenery, Olaf focused his attention at the weather-worn chess board inlaid in the table. He had walked past this part of the park at least once a week for the past six years, and he couldn’t remember the last time that he had seen anyone actually using the tables for their original intent. The years had gone on, the sun bleaching the boards more and more, as they gained more and more scars and marks from bored visitors who, like him, were forced to wait.

‘Perhaps that’s what she wants, some kind of control, revenge,’ he thought, running a long finger over a comically cartoonish representation of the male anatomy. He was fairly certain that even in middle school his own additions to textbooks and desks had been better crafted than this one. 

“Hi.”

The familiar voice made him jump. Instinctively, his hand flattened to cover the graffito. “Hello, hello,” he said, forcing a smile as his heart rate attempted to return to normal.

She wasn’t smiling though. Not that he had expected her to. This was hardly a friendly reunion, and from the bags under her eyes and the soft sigh she gave as she sat down opposite him, he could tell that she was probably too tired to bother much with social niceties. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” she said.

“I could say the same about you.” Though she wasn’t looking at him, his eyes were fixed on her. It had been four years since they had sat across a table from one another, unspokenly agreed upon opponents. They had been further apart then, though. The table in his kitchen was much larger than this. And now that he thought about it, she had been standing behind her bookish brother, holding that drooling baby, all three wearing the same expression that he had been unable to stand. Thankfully, the arrival of Mr. Poe had saved him from suffering that for too long. 

“My shift ran late, sorry,” she said, not sounding the least bit sorry to have wasted his time.

‘Vindictive brat,’ he thought, his shoulders tensing. Though she was wearing the typical white collared shirt and black pants that was almost the uniform of any restaurant worker, and she even had the stains and smell to prove it, he preferred to believe that this was all a very calculated act. If that were the case, Olaf was sure that she would have made her mother proud. “I’m surprised you still knew my phone number,” he said smoothly, choosing to avoid accusing her for the time being. 

Finally she looked up at him, meeting his piercing gaze. “I looked it up.” She straightened herself up, raising her chin. 

It had been stupid to think that she would have remembered his number. He knew that there had been at least seven numbers for her to remember after his - and she had only stayed with him for two weeks, four years ago. There was no reason for that string of digits to have stuck with her. Maybe with her brother, with his odd encyclopedic memory, but not her. “I didn’t think people your age knew how to use a phonebook,” he finally said. 

“We learned about them in Ancient History,” she retorted without hesitation.

The sarcastic bristle in the girl’s voice brought a small smirk to the corner of Olaf’s lips. Despite all of her misfortunes, he could see that some things about her hadn’t been stamped out. He remembered exactly what it felt like to break. The upward quirk of his lips faded until it was set definitively into a frown. “Why did you want to see me, Violet?” he snapped. 

She drew back, almost as far back as she could while still sitting at the table. She bit her lip, and there was no doubt in his mind that she had been asking herself that exact same question for same amount of time it had been plaguing him. Perhaps longer even. 

“If you want me to apologize to you and your siblings, you’ve wasted both our times,” he continued sharply. “I stand by my decision, and no sob story you tell me will make me change my mind about that.” 

“No, I-”

“You what?” His voice was low even though there was no one else around them in the park. “Wanted to tell me how great your life has turned out?”

She let out a hollow laugh. “My life has been one unfortunate event after another.”

“That’s how it is for most people,” he said. Years ago, he had been struck by her resemblance to her mother, and now that annoyance flushed her cheeks, he could only see just how much that similarity had grown. “Don’t go around thinking that makes you special.”

“I didn’t come here to be berated by you,” she said hotly. “And I didn’t ask you to come to piss you off.”

“Then, what?” He folded his arms and leaned forward across the table. “What do you want, Baudelaire?” 

She shifted slightly, and her hand rose to his sightline, a dark green ribbon trailing behind. With a well practiced, absent-minded air, she tied her long hair back. He had only seen her wear her hair like that once before, and that had been a time her back had been turned to him, a pane of glass and twelve vertical feet between them. 

“Don’t tell me you are hoping for closure. You’re clever enough to know that’s something therapists invented to make money,” he sneered. 

She took a breath, and he found himself pausing, waiting for whatever she was working up the courage to say. 

“I need help.”

A mirthful laugh tore through him, and he stared at her, the reddish tinge growing on her cheeks and ears only making him giggle more. “You’ve seen how I live first-hand,” he said when he could finally control himself. “You know the theatre doesn’t pay a living wage.” 

She fixed him with such a piercing, scornful glare that for a moment, Olaf could forget that it wasn’t Beatrice sitting across from him, thoroughly put out by his latest complaint about her fiance. But he blinked, and then again it was her daughter glowering at him.

“I’m not asking for money,” she finally managed. “I’m asking for advice.”

That he had not expected. Dumbfounded he leaned back, hoarsely murmuring, “Not sure if I have any advice to give you.” At least, none that he knew Beatrice would approve of or hadn’t already said herself giving the usual parental advice that was more annoying than helpful. ‘Don’t smoke. Don’t drink. If you do drink, don’t drive. No motorcycles. Don’t have sex. If you do have sex, wrap it.’ Beatrice probably hadn’t gotten to the last part yet with her children, but he was pretty sure that lesson had been covered in some high school curriculum or one of those inane ninety minute movies that required a second X chromosome to tolerate. 

“I think that you could at least… point me in the right direction about this,” she said hesitantly, as if she wasn’t sure herself that he would be of any help.

With a resigned wave, Olaf said, “If you must.” She was desperate enough to have come to him, so he knew that she wouldn’t be easily persuaded to find someone else to help her. There was probably no one else.

“I aged out of the System,” she began.

“Happy birthday,” he said lightly, as if he didn’t know full well that she had celebrated her birthday six weeks ago. The date was seared into his being, but not because of what had happened nineteen years ago. It had been a dark day for him for years before she had been born. 

“That was two months ago, but thank you,” she replied. “And now that I’ve graduated and picked up another job, I want to adopt my brother and sister. Have them live with me instead of… strangers.” The way she said the word, it was obvious that the emphasis was on strange. 

“So you come to me for advice on what…” He didn’t see how he fit into her current predicament.

She bit her bottom lip, causing it to blanch, and shook her head. “I know Mr. Poe discussed the adoption process with you.” She spoke carefully, as if weighing each word.

“And I’m sure that social worker would be happy to discuss it with you,” Olaf said lightly, leaning forward. “Despite appearances, I’m sure he is actually knowledgeable on the topic. Probably remembers a lot more about the ins and outs than I do.” He had been too panicked and angry at Beatrice to have actually absorbed anything that was actually said during that meeting. All that he had walked away with was the unshakeable need for a drink and to find a way out as quick as possible. 

“I already talked to him.”

“And he told you that no judge in their right mind would grant a teenager custody of not one, but two dependants,” he conjectured. Not that he could say he had ever met a judge in their right mind.

She offered a small nod in confirmation.

“I don’t think he’s wrong.” He watched her face for a reaction, and to his surprise, she didn’t show any signs of disappointment or even resignation. She had known that that was what he would say. “You’re working, so you have that in your favor, but I can’t imagine you make that much waiting tables.”

“I also work at a mechanic’s,” she blurted.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “A similarly lucrative career that will allow you to afford rent, feed three people, and deal with all those annoying necessities that make us human.” It was so hard for him to remember just what it was like to be so blindly naive that such a thing seemed remotely feasible.

She swallowed and moved to the edge of her seat, pressing her elbows against the table. “Then what do you think I should do?”

He wanted to laugh again at the shear ridiculousness of anyone asking for his advice or thinking that he could come up with a strategy for something like this. But, the actor kept his face stern. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” The sharp prick of disappointment on her voice was nothing he hadn’t heard before.

“You’re not responsible for raising your siblings.”

“But my parents-”

“It’s not your job.” Fuck Beatrice and her desire to fill everyone with guilt over responsibilities she knew they’d never be able to handle. “Your siblings are being cared for. Fed. Clothed. They go to school. They get their needs met.”

“They’re not happy. We’re not happy,” she corrected. “For years, we’ve planned on leaving together when I came of age. Being on our own without any guardians or-”

“Or any sense of what it’s like to live in the real world.” 

“Oh no. Thanks to you, my siblings and I know exactly what that’s like.”

His nostrils flared. “I wasn’t aware that I was fire incarnate.”

“You know exactly what I mean,” she hissed. “You were supposed to take us in. That’s what my mother wanted.”

“If Beatrice actually wanted me to take in three orphans,” he said, his voice growing louder with each word, “she should have told me, instead of leaving it to a social worker to inform me that I had to start playing house.”

“Well, I’m sorry my siblings and I were an inconvenience to your foul bachelor life.” Though there was heated hate behind her words, she spoke evenly. “I guess I’ll leave you be.” She started to get to her feet.

“Wait.” He placed his hand on her arm and guided her back down. He shook his head, as if that would be enough to clear his mind of the bitter anger that had surged and breached the levies with the reappearance of the eldest Baudelaire. “It’s not what you can do,” he said carefully, “but if Claude-”

“Klaus.”

“Sure. If he gets a job, a good paying job, he could petition the court to be emancipated. The two of you together might be able to present a convincing case that would sway a judge,” he explained. “At worst, you’d have to wait another two years before you two could adopt Sunny, but by that point, you’d be more likely to be allowed to adopt her.” 

She sucked in her breath and nodded, her eyes drifting down to his hand still wrapped around her forearm.

Olaf himself looked at his hand and realized just how tight his grip had gotten. He relaxed his grip, but still held onto her.

She lifted her gaze slowly, scanning upwards until she found his eyes. “Is that what you did?” It was barely more than a thought spoken into a breath. 

Paling, Olaf recoiled, finally understanding just what had prompted Violet Baudelaire to seek him out. The sudden shift made him dizzy and ill - sicker than the memories of that night had made him feel in well over a decade. He no longer was watching her face to see whether or not she was pleased by the effect her revelation had on him. 

Hastily, he got to his feet. He wasn’t even sure he gave an excuse. He might have just started walking away, only dimly aware of the ‘sorry’ shouted to his retreating back. It wasn’t until he was safely back in his home, two glasses into the four dollar wine he kept around for times like this, that he realized he should have asked her who the hell had told her.


	2. The New Strategy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Violet and Klaus begin to re-evaluate their plan, they make a less than appealing discovery.

She knew she had messed up. She hadn’t even meant to - the question had bubbled up in her mind as he spoke, and before she was even aware of just how acutely it burned, it had escaped her lips. The damage had been instantaneous. The withdrawal and flashing eyes he quickly turned away had been immediate proof that it was all ruined. After the concatenation of misadventures and missteps that had been her reality since the age of fourteen, she had stopped truly believing that things would go any different. Just as soon as things began to look like they were finally taking a turn for the better or that she could consider something a new ‘normal’, something always came along to upset it all, proving just how wrong she was yet again. 

By no, she knew it was foolish to even hope for some shadow of the happiness and security that she had taken for granted as a kid, but she supposed she wasn’t quite as smart as her parents had always said she was. She certainly hadn’t been clever enough to come up with a way to salvage the situation. She had just sat there, horrified by the effect the question had on her former guardian. He had stared at her, as if she were the worst kind of intruder, shock commingled with pain. 

If she had, for whatever reason, misguidedly believed that revealing her awareness of the actor’s past might have encouraged him to share and advise, she had been woefully mistaken. Swifter than a guillotine, she had severed whatever tenuous connection they might have had along with any possibility that he would even consider wanting to help her any further. He hadn’t even acknowledged the feeble apology she had offered, and she couldn’t blame him. No one wanted to be exposed.

At least, before she had gone and ruined it all, he had offered her advice that she had to begrudgingly admit was actually good, even if it meant that her past four years of planning had been wasted. Proving that she would be capable of providing for two minors would be much harder than convincing a court that Klaus was mature enough to be legally considered an adult - he had always been mature for his age, and after the past four years, all three Baudelaires had found themselves confronted with what few adults were actually ready for. Not that it was right. It was too late for her, but it wasn’t too late for them. She didn’t want to ask Klaus to distract himself from his studies, jeopardizing whatever chance he had to attract offers from the prestigious institutions of higher learning that she knew Klaus belonged at, but in four years she hadn’t been able to find another way. 

They had to at least try. 

Klaus had been a lot less difficult to convince of the new strategy than she would have liked. As he had nodded and mused out loud about how emancipation was probably the best option, Violet had worried the inside of her cheek. _‘You are the eldest Baudelaire child.’_ Her parents’ voices came to her clear as day as Klaus had gotten up and announced that he was going to the library, and Violet couldn’t even be thankful that Klaus hadn’t asked just what or who had given her this new idea. _‘And as the eldest, it will always be your responsibility to look after your younger siblings.’_ The words had echoed in her head as she waited with Sunny for Klaus to return, carrying a stack of books and several newspapers, barely able to pay attention as her sister pointedly colored outside the lines of coloring sheet from school. _‘Promise us that you will always watch out for them and make sure they don’t get into trouble.’_ She hadn’t been upholding the promise she had made her parents, at least, not by her standards.

“It’s actually not as bad as I thought,” Klaus said, emerging from behind the thick law book. 

Violet and Sunny looked up from their place on Klaus’s bedroom rug, with the classified ads spread out before them. Violet had been searching for any new job listings that promised more than minimum wage, and Sunny - to the best of her ability - was trying to help by pointing out the words she did know and sounding out the others. “Emancipation?” Violet asked.

“Freedom?” offered Sunny.

Violet smiled and wrapped her arm around her baby sister. “Yes, that’s right.” She kissed the Kindergartener’s blonde hair. “Freedom.” A true Baudelaire, Sunny had wanted to know exactly what the word meant as soon as she had heard Violet use to explain what she thought they ought to do next.

Klaus pushed up his glasses. “There are four ways to become emancipated. One is biologically impossible for me, so that’s off the table…”

While Sunny seemed oblivious, Violet smiled. “Good, I don’t want to be an aunt until you’ve gotten your PhD.”

Klaus flushed and looked back down at the page. “The others,” he continued in a matter of fact manner, after clearing his throat, “are possible. But only one is really practical. I’m not going to join the armed services, and I’m not going to get married -”

“Definitely not,” reiterated Violet. Either one of those options would without a doubt break the promise she had made to their parents, and she knew that there was no way she would be able to sleep ever again if she allowed her brother to pursue either option. 

“The last, though, I think you’re right,” Klaus continued, “is possibly doable.”

“Petitioning the court,” supplied Violet, thinking back to what Olaf had said.

Klaus nodded. “There’s the filing of the petition, and that will take money-”

“Of course.”

“-and we may need a lawyer.”

She sighed. While a court fee might be a hundred or so, Violet was pretty sure that actually getting a lawyer for Klaus would take well over a week of her pay. 

“What we will have to do is prove that I’m mature enough to be responsible to make my own decisions as an adult,” explained Klaus, glancing back down at the book.

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” said Violet. “We’ve been making our own decisions for years. We just haven’t been allowed to do what we know is best.” Anger flared in her chest. Time after time, Mr. Poe and anyone else who seemed to have any power over their lives, had disregarded what the three of them wanted and what they knew was best. Guardian after guardian, it was all variations on the same theme. Even Uncle Monty - for all his encouragement and enthusiasm - had never really listened to them or done what was in their best interest. Before the heart attack, he had always cared more about his work than the ‘bambini.’ It had taken several guardians after for Violet to realize that just like every one that came after, Uncle Monty had wanted them to adjust to his life, instead of actually trying to integrate all their lives together. As excited as she had been by the prospect of going off to Peru in the middle of the school year with her new guardian and siblings, Violet could see now that Uncle Monty, despite his best intentions, did not make the best decisions.

“It still needs to be proven,” said Klaus. “And on top of that, I’ll have to be able to show that I am capable of taking care of myself on my own, completely independently. So, I will need a job-”

“Sunny and I are on that,” Violet said.

“Classifieds!” shouted Sunny, pointing to the word Violet had taught her less than half an hour ago.

“And I will have to have a place to live or at least arrangements set up,” Klaus went on.

“You’ll move in with me,” Violet said. “Like we always planned. All of us living together.” Eventually. She gave her little sister a small squeeze but said nothing more.

“And it looks like I’ll probably have to take my GED.”

“What?” Violet got up off the floor and went to sit with Klaus on his bed. She took the law book from him, and he pointed to the pertinent passage. Her heart sank a little. “You can’t… though… what about college?”

“You can still go to college with a GED,” sighed Klaus. “I’ve looked into it. Honestly, I’ve been tempted to just take the damned test ever since Carmelita-” He cut himself off, glancing down at Sunny, who was now standing, leaning against the bed, brown eyes wide and flitting from one sibling to the other. “I’ve done my research. The test isn’t that hard, and if I pass, I’ll be able to work more.”

“You shouldn’t have to give up school to-”

“Violet. Stop.” 

She couldn’t believe her brother, the boy who had cried because he had been told he had to wait two years to start school when she had started Kindergarten, was actually considering this. Had been for some time. It was something she didn’t want to accept, but compared to the alternative, it was infinitely better. They couldn’t stay here, and Violet knew full too well that it was only a matter of time before the latest guardians decided it was too much for them or broke up or perished. When that happened, there was no way of knowing just where the younger Baudelaires would be sent, and there was no certainty that she’d be able to follow. 

“I’m trying to be emancipated,” he said. “I need to be allowed make my own decisions and take that risk… even if you don’t think I should.” 

As hard as it was to palate, Violet had to concede that her brother was right. It was the second bitter pill of the afternoon, and it caught in her throat, leaving her with a sick sensation as she nodded. “You’re right,” she managed, her voice tight. Without a doubt, this was the opposite of everything that their parents had dreamed. Instead of preparing for her freshman year at an engineering school, Violet was waiting tables and learning the ins and outs of car repair. 

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment that she had realized that she no longer considered what had been her dream for so much of her childhood to actually be a true goal anymore. Had it been finding Aunt Josephine’s suicide note or the day that Hal had accused them of stealing? When Jerome had sat the three of them down to explain that because Esme had left and he didn’t think he could do it on his own that they would have to find yet another guardian? Though it had been insidious, it had been thorough. 

How had it never occurred to her that the same process could have taken root in her brother as well?

There was a soft knock on the door frame, and all three Baudelaires looked up to see an aproned Charles. “Violet,” he said, “you know I hate to do this, but the last time Sir came back home and you were here-”

Getting to her feet, Violet said, “I know.” She didn’t need reminding of what had happened barely a week ago. She knew exactly how her former guardian felt about her continuing to ‘rely’ on him and his partner by visiting her siblings - as if her reason for dropping by on the few hours she wasn’t working was to borrow the Wifi password or to fill a backpack full of food and other supplies she had pilfered from his cabinets. His inability to conceive of her wanting to just see her brother and sister did lend some credence to Charles’s claims that his partner had had a terrible childhood, but having had a terrible childhood herself, Violet could only say that that was bullshit. 

Charles gave her a thin lipped smile and handed her a warm tupper-ware container. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” he whispered.

Wearily, Violet returned the smile and accepted the food. As frustrating as Charles was, Violet knew from the months she had spent with the two partners that he suffered too. But he still wasn’t entirely blameless. “Thanks, Charles,” she exhaled. After the long shift at work, meeting up with Olaf, and now this, she didn’t have the energy to even consider trying to push her luck with Charles and Sir. She turned back to the bed to her siblings. “I’ll stop by after work tomorrow,” she promised. She bent down to give Klaus and then Sunny a tight hug and a kiss. “Before Sir gets home,” she added, noticing Charles’s expression out of the corner of her eye. Looking straight at Klaus she went on, “And don’t decide anything yet or register for any tests. We still have a lot to talk about.”

Klaus slowly nodded.

She straightened up and regarded the two of them. “I love you both so much.” It was something that strictly speaking, didn’t have to be said. She was aware that it was obvious to the three of them, but she wanted to make sure that they always without a doubt knew it.

The younger Baudelaires offered similar sentiments, and Violet gave a short and far less heartfelt goodbye to Charles, and left the bedroom, on her way back to her tiny apartment that could definitely not be called home.


	3. The Baudelaire Problem

She was up to her elbows in grease and car parts when she felt someone tap her shoulder. Just short of jumping, she looked up to see Jackie. “I was only checking a couple things,” she quickly said, not sure if her boss was about to reprimand her for going under the hood without direction. 

“There’s someone on the phone for you.”

Tension coiled in her stomach as she wiped the grime from her hands onto an already filthy rag. Flustered, she tried rubbing her hands across the front of her overalls. “About what?” she said, trying to keep her tone even. 

Jackie shrugged. “Didn’t say.”

Violet started through the garage, not swift enough to outpace the alarming scenarios playing out in her head. Klaus injured in some horrible accident. Sunny following a stranger off the playground. Another fire. It was enough to make her mouth dry, so when she finally reached the cluttered back office and picked up the phone, she barely managed, “Violet Baudelaire, speaking.” 

“Do you have any idea how many mechanic shops there are in this city?”

A jolt of surprise shot up her spine at the unexpectedly familiar voice. The way that he had walked away, Violet had been sure that she would never hear his voice again. She couldn’t suppress her laugh. Just a moment ago, the thoughts racing through her mind had been so dark and terrifying. In comparison, hearing her former guardian’s voice was music to her ears. 

“Don’t laugh, Baudelaire.”

“I…” She took a deep breath to try to compose herself. She sat down in Jackie’s worn desk chair. “No. I don’t know. How many?” 

“Twenty-one.”

She reflexively nodded at the number, before realizing that there was no way for him to know what she was doing. “That sounds about right,” she said quickly. She hadn’t done an internet search or looked it up in the yellow-pages, but after having lived in the city and the neighboring suburbs, Violet would have guessed that there were about that many, give or take a few. The day she had brought her suitcase full of her possessions from Sir’s house to her dismal apartment, she had simply gone out in search of a place nearby with a ‘help wanted’ sign. While she had expected to be turned away by Jackie, since she lacked any vocational training or experience beyond tinkering, Jackie had actually asked for a demonstration of her mechanical aptitude. After a couple hours with Violet assisting in the shop, Jackie had been eager to hire her. 

“And you had to work at number thirteen.”

Between the relief she felt and sheer surrealism of having this casual conversation with _this_ man, Violet found herself smiling, imagining him with a giant phone book like the one she had used to find his number after several unsuccessful internet searches. One by one, she could see him going down the list, calling each successive auto repair shop until he finally reached Moray Wheels.

Hoping her amusement didn’t color her voice, Violet said, “And you had to inform me of that fact. Thank you, sir. I feel enlightened.”

An exasperated huff made the plastic of the phone vibrate against her ear. “I found your brother and you a job.”

Violet straightened up suddenly. “What?”

“A job. A place of employment. Not to be confused with the book.” 

“I know what a job is,” Violet said sharply. “I have two.”

“And the one I found you would pay you well enough so you only need to work one.”

“I like-”

“I’m sure you enjoy being a grease monkey, but I doubt that you like waiting tables making below minimum wage.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“And besides,” he continued, his voice almost a wheeze, “I imagine your brother is probably now looking for a job.”

She hesitated.

“Did you tell him?”

“Of course.” Not who had suggested emancipation. 

He hummed into the receiver. “Well I, generous and caring man that I am, have managed to procure for the both of you stable employment above minimum wage at a reputable establishment that any judge would consider acceptable to provide for an emancipated minor and an adopted dependent.”

A very large part of her wanted to point out his grandiosity, but if what he was saying was actually true, she couldn’t afford to throw this chance away. “How?” 

“I had a few favors that I decided to call in.”

She bit back the questions that his explanation had brought up - if he was able to find stable employment for her and her brother, why didn’t he take advantage of it himself? She remembered back from four years ago how he had mentioned his numerous odd jobs and the erratic schedule they caused was one of the many reasons he was an unsuitable guardian for the three of them. 

The actor went on, “An associate of mine is one of the owners and managers of Hotel Denouement. If you and Clive-”

“Klaus,” corrected Violet automatically. 

“- are interested, you can be concierges. Just show up after noon tomorrow and ask for Ernest. If the guy at the manager’s desk doesn’t know what you’re talking about, that’s Frank. They’re identical.”

“If they’re identical, how am I supposed to tell them apart?” asked Violet, wondering if she ought to be taking notes.

There was a laugh on the other end, a wheezing, weary laugh. “Give it a little bit of time, and you won’t have any trouble telling them apart,” he said. “There are noticeable… differences between the Denouements. You’ll see.”

She thought back to the Quagmires and how it hadn’t taken her long at all to tell those three apart. Isadora had always been easy to distinguish from her brothers, but Duncan and Quigley she had quickly been able to see the differences in. After a few days at the large group home, she had no trouble knowing which brother was which. “So… tomorrow after noon, at Hotel Denouement, Klaus and I are to see Ernest, the manager, but his identical brother Frank is also a manager,” she summarized, trying to make sure that even in her state of shock, she had heard everything right.

There was a small sound of assent.

Silence descended on both lines. Violet opened her mouth, knowing exactly what she was supposed to say to a man who had orchestrated such a feat for her and her brother, but no expression of gratitude came forth. Despite all her manners and general sense of propriety, she absolutely could not find the words inside of her to thank the man.

“I’ve got to go,” she finally whispered and quickly returned the phone to its cradle.

 

As the hang-up tone became the automated voice instructing him to hang-up and call again, Olaf sighed and clicked the phone off. It was still hard for him to believe that he had actually done it all. This was hardly the usual thing he saw to completion. Generally, those things he could either gain something from directly or indirectly. He usually enjoyed those things. This was an oddity. 

He walked from the kitchen to the den, puzzling over the strange anomaly. It definitely hadn’t been because of any guilt, not out of any sense of obligation to Beatrice. After what she had put him through, he owed her nothing. In fact, he knew it was the opposite. He could feel presence of her unpaid debt. Since that first phone call a few days ago, it had been his constant companion. It sat there across the room from him, mocking his every move and thought. 

And right now, it was roaring with laughter. 

He desperately wanted to shout at it, but he was too keenly aware that that would only fulfill a prediction he had heard far too many times - usually from a Snicket. And Olaf much preferred not to give any of them the satisfaction, even their smirking righteous faces only existed in his mind’s eye. 

Scowling, Olaf strode up the stairs, hoping to outpace the shadows, but even in his tower, he could find no peace. He sat at his desk, breathing heavily, as he found himself pondering the why yet again. 

He really couldn’t even call what he had done an impulse decision, as that implied that he had actually been contemplating the matter, instead of just finding himself compelled. He hadn’t consciously decided to walk over to Ernest when he had seen him at rehearsal last night, but his legs had carried him over. It had felt natural to slide into the seat behind him, resting his forearm on the back of the next row. It hadn’t been until he heard himself use Ernest’s actual name instead of an offensive moniker or bastardization of his last name that Olaf had realized that this was strange.

No stranger to odd and uncomfortable things, Olaf had persisted, allowing the words to come without premeditation or preamble. As he had no real idea where he was taking to conversation, he had really no reason to stop the flow.

Calling to attention the various favors and promises to reciprocate that had been made over the years had certainly annoyed the other man, but it hadn’t been hard to persuade Ernest to hire two employees. Ernest complained [read: bragged] about just how busy his hotel was that the suggestion had been reluctantly well received. 

It was a brilliant idea, and Olaf wished he could say it had all been planned and calculated on his part. Then he could have used it as proof of his brilliance. Perhaps he could go around saying he had planned it, not that this was the sort of thing he’d ever talk about with his associates. 

He could hear Fernald reading guilt into it - guilt that Olaf knew he’d have trouble convincing anyone he didn’t have after this. Orlando would offer some commentary that they’d claim justified their dual Gender Studies and Theatre major. And Esme…

Olaf smirked as he imagined Esme’s annoyance that he couldn’t just ‘leave it’ as far as the Baudelaires were concerned. She’d berate until he found his hands slipping down her waistband while he murmured an empty apology against her ear until she was gasping too much to continue with her criticisms. It was one of the many routines they knew very well. And the growing tension just below his navel informed him that a visit to the city’s sixth most important CFO was just what he needed to get the Baudelaire problem out of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there readers, I hope you've been having some happy holidays, and I hope that you will accept this holiday gift from me. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been reading, giving kudos, and commenting. Thank you for giving this rather unusual AU a chance! I'd appreciate hearing what you think about it, since comments really help with the motivation for a quick update. 
> 
> In case you are wondering, Chapter Five is when the action will begin to pick up, so you are almost there! And Esme will continue to be a character for a few chapters yet to come. I apologize in advance.
> 
> Thank you again!  
> Happy Holidays and Happy New Year (and third season, since that will likely have dropped by the time I update again).


	4. Gratitude

Sunny had not wanted to be left behind. Violet didn’t blame her little sister for finding the prospect of spending many, many hours with only Charles to keep her company daunting. She understood Sunny’s insistence that she be allowed to come along to work. The unease of being separated and emptiness of being alone kept Violet up at night in her apartment, while she listened to the drip of the air conditioner and the hum of traffic outside. 

Even though she had gone over the plan again and re-explained why it was necessary that the eldest Baudelaires work, Violet had felt guilt gnawing away inside her as she glanced back over her shoulder to see a rather glum Sunny waving goodbye from the front porch, Charles holding her other hand and listing all the things they could do together with their free summer afternoon. Violet was sure that Sunny would actually enjoy gardening and making cupcakes with Charles after a while, but the defeated look her sister gave her made her heart ache.

“I know she doesn’t like being alone with grown ups,” Klaus said softly as the turned the corner, causing Sunny and their guardian’s partner to be hidden behind a large wooden fence. “But what choice do we have?”

Violet gave a slight nod, still trying to catch a glimpse of her sister through the tiny gaps in the fence. “Not much.” Arriving to their first day of work with a little kid in tow was undoubtedly a great way to turn a first day into an only day, especially if Ernest was anything like Olaf. 

Her former guardian had described him as an ‘associate’ - an inscrutable word that defied Violet’s attempts to parse out. She had been under the impression that ‘associate’ usually implied a business connection, but what business could a barely functioning actor have with the co-owner of one of the most successful hotels in the city. Perhaps he had been implying that there was some social connection, but Violet couldn’t remember anyone by the name of Ernest ever stopping by during her brief residence at Olaf’s place. Of course, Olaf could have met the man in the four years between then and now. But, Violet couldn’t stop getting stuck on how odd it was to describe a friend as an associate, even for someone like Olaf. 

‘What does it matter?’ she almost shouted to stop herself from taking another round on the mental merry-go-round. 

She bit her lip, realizing that she and Klaus were already on the bus. Mechanically as she had walked and waited, pondering the connection between the men, she had pulled her hair back into a ponytail. A quick glance down at her wrist confirmed that instead of the hair elastic she used while working at the restaurant, she had used the ribbon from her pocket, as if she had needed the focus required for inventing or solving a complicated problem. 

It was a puzzle, but for the life of her, Violet couldn’t offer an explanation as to just why Olaf’s word choice was so fascinating. _He probably doesn’t even know what the word means,_ Violet thought as she let out a sigh. It wasn’t too difficult for her to recall times when Olaf had misused a word and shown varying degrees of anger when Klaus inevitably corrected him. _He probably just meant it like acquaintance._ As much as she knew there was no point in diving back into the nuance of the word, the window into the life of the man who had betrayed her and her family was too tempting not to spy into. 

“It doesn’t matter-”

Violet started at the sound of her brother’s voice.

“- but you still haven’t told me just how you found these jobs,” Klaus said.

The question didn’t even allow Violet’s heart to recover from the initial shock. “I,” she said, glancing from her brother to the window where the shoreline now rolled alongside the bus. “It’s…” 

“Did you-” his voice dropped down so it was barely audible over the chatter and clangs of the bus, “- have to do anything… weird?”

At least her brother had the decency to flush at the disgusted expression she fixed him with. 

“I just want to know what to expect,” he stammered. “Two good paying jobs… at a hotel run by some guys… I’ve got to ask, Violet.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” she quickly said, knowing that if she explained who had found the jobs for them, Klaus would get off at the next stop and insist on walking all the way back to Sir’s home, picking up a new copy of the classified ads somewhere along the way. 

“See, when you say that, I worry.”

Violet let out a sigh and pulled her ribbon out, allowing her ponytail to come undone. Restoring the ribbon back to her pants’ pocket, Violet murmured, “I haven’t done anything I regret.” As uncomfortable as it had made her to face her former guardian again, she was now sure that it had been the right decision. “And I didn’t have to do anything our parents would be ashamed of,” she added with a slight bite to her words. His name had for some reason been on the list of those individuals they had thought they could count on if the worst came to pass. Turning to him for help, Violet reasoned, was probably something her parents could understand. 

The two siblings remained silent for the next two stops and for the short walk that it took to bring the two to the hedges that separated the grounds of the seaside hotel from the public sidewalk. 

Violet looked up the hill to the grand hotel that perched close enough to the edge of the cliff to make her wonder if anyone had ever jumped from the rooftop into the ocean. It was a morbid thought, she knew, but it was better than trying to remember if she had been able to make out the shadow of the cliff back on that gloomy morning at Briny Beach. One glance in Klaus’ direction, and she was sure that she wasn’t alone in trying to think about just what other destinations the hotel was in close proximity to.

A taxi turned into the driveway, sparing Violet from the herculean task of bringing up anything to take their minds off of that dark day four years ago. The brother and sister watched as the yellow cab wove its way around the grounds, following the road as it curved around the circle of the pond, before joining the throng of taxis and other vehicles at the distant hotel. 

“‘If we wait until we’re ready,’” began Klaus, repeating what they had heard their parents say so many times before.

“‘We’ll be waiting the rest of our lives,’” Violet joined in.

The two exchanged a quick smile before starting up the winding gravel road.

 

It didn’t take too long to reach the grand facade of the Hotel, but as they stepped into the air conditioned atrium, Violet became acutely aware of just how much her dampened blouse clung to her back and chest. She was glad that she had chosen a dark enough color so that it wasn’t embarrassingly apparent. She adjusted her shirt, and scanned the bustling interior for the manager’s desk. A high desk below the ‘reception’ sign welcomed guests, but the two smiling women standing behind the counter were unlikely to be the man Olaf had told her to seek. As the women began to help a rather large extended family check-in, Violet sighed and ventured further into the hotel. “We’re looking for a desk that says ‘Manager’ or something to that effect,” Violet murmured to Klaus as they navigated their way through the crowd. 

“Wait, you’ve never been here?” asked Klaus. 

“No.” Violet couldn’t blame her brother for coming to that conclusion. As they walked to the other side of the opened grand piano, they finally saw the sign they were looking for. A gangly man stood behind the desk, speaking with a younger man in a deep orange-red uniform, the color hotel staff seemed to all be wearing. 

“You said his name was Ernest?” 

“Unless that’s Frank,” whispered Violet as they approached, still far enough away to be neither heard nor noticed. “They’re identical.”

“Frank and Ernest?” 

Her brother’s stifled laugh was easy for Violet to pick out, and she smiled, suddenly realizing just what her brother found so amusing. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t noticed that the twins had two synonyms as names. “Oh, that’s bad,” she said, though she had dropped her voice so low she doubted that even Klaus had heard her above the bustle of the hotel. 

The manager looked up at the two approaching him, his eyebrows raising, and before the siblings could ask whether or not they had found Frank or Ernest, the man said, “You must be the Baudelaires.”

Violet and her brother stopped midstep. “Yes,” Violet provided, recovering quicker than Klaus. 

“I thought it was a joke,” the man went on. “But my brother would kill me if he found out I didn’t agree to help Bertrand’s kids out.”

At the unexpected mention of her father’s name, Violet felt her mouth open instinctively. In an attempt to hide her shock, she managed, “Our father never mentioned a Frank,” assuming that this was the manager who Olaf had spoken to directly.

“Why would he?” the tall man said with a frown before another uniformed man came up to the desk and began to describe a situation involving abandoned luggage. 

While Violet’s instinct was to use the interruption as a chance to ponder the dozen questions that the brief encounter had created, she heard the original concierge speak.

“It’s a good thing you’re here,” he said. “We’ve been understaffed, and it’s tourist season, so you know what that means.”

Klaus frowned. “I don’t, but I can imagine.”

“It’s always busy, though, even when we’re fully staffed,” the concierge continued, “well, except for the third shift, but I’ve only had to work that twice. Usually the brothers only need one of us for the whole hotel then. Fiona says it’s good for doing homework.” 

“We’ll be happy to work whatever shifts are needed,” said Klaus, and Violet nodded in agreement. If they were going to actually succeed in Klaus’s emancipation and then the adoption of Sunny, there was no doubt that less than appealing hours would be required. 

“Right now what we really need is help with the business hours shifts,” came the voice of the manager as he rejoined the three of them. “I’m afraid that I can’t give you two a proper introduction to the hotel, but Kevin-” he gestured at the concierge who had been speaking with them, “- will explain all the ins and outs to you.” With that, Ernest walked away, the other concierge following quickly behind him. 

“Oh yeah, I’m Kevin.” He sheepishly offered both hands out, crossed in front of him. “Should have probably started with that.”

Violet and Klaus both looked at Kevin’s hands before realizing they were supposed to shake them. Clumsily, Violet reached for Kevin’s left hand with her own while Klaus shook the right, each offering their own name. 

“If you follow me,” Kevin said, starting off in the direction of the elevators as the Baudelaires trailed close behind him, “I can introduce you to the other concierges, and we can find you two uniforms. After that-” he pressed the call button on the elevator, “you’ll be following us around as we get called.” The three stepped inside the elevator, and Violet forced herself to pay attention as her trainer enumerated on variety of tasks that they could be called upon to do in their line of duty. 

 

By the end of the day, however, Violet had come to the conclusion that Kevin had been exaggerating just how often unusual or interesting tasks were involved in their new jobs. After almost eight hours of shadowing Kevin, Hugo, and Colette each time one of the lightbulbs by a room number lit up, it was plain to Violet that working as a concierge for Hotel Denouement mostly consisted of standing around, walking, and bringing room service to guests rooms - a task that was only a slight variation on her job at the Anxious Clown. 

Except for one staggering difference.

“Seven dollar per room,” Violet wearily breathed as they finally reached the bus stop and sat gratefully on the bench. 

“The tips?” confirmed Klaus. “Yeah, I figured it was about that. Didn’t actually try to count.” He rolled his head slowly, producing a dull pop. “It was really nice of them to split their tips,” he added, referring to what had been a surprising announcement by Hugo, Colette, and Kevin at the end of their shift. 

“I’ve never heard of a trainee getting tips before,” agreed Violet, remembering her own waitress training two years ago and each of the subsequent trainings she had assisted with. She leaned back against the bench, gaze drifting to fading glow of the sun as the summer evening turned to night. “And I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a tip that high before.” It was hardly the only strange thing about the place, and now that the hotel wasn’t bustling around her as she was shuttled back and forth on calls, Violet could finally pick the confusing knot of facts back up and tug at the threads until she could see how it came undone. 

Violet turned to her brother, who was staring off in the direction the bus would approach from. “Why do you think Dad never mentioned Frank?”

Klaus’s mouth opened as he faced her, and it was a moment before any words came out. “I think he did, actually,” he said quietly. “I don’t remember the details. It was just in passing years ago… I was reading Sunny the Eloise book. Sunny didn’t think people actually lived in hotels. And Dad said-” Klaus frowned “-said he had a friend who lived in a hotel.”

“Lived in a hotel, not that he ran it?” The tenuousness of the association confirmed Violet’s suspicion that Klaus had been pondering the connection as well, searching deep, forgotten memories for any reference to Frank Denouement, just as she had been. 

“He might have been trying to make it more relevant,” mused Klaus. “After all, Eloise doesn’t run the hotel.”

“And do they live at the Hotel?” asked Violet, casting a glance over her shoulder back up the hill. 

Klaus shrugged his shoulders. “It’s big enough that they could have an apartment there. Or maybe they live nearby.”

Deflated, Violet sighed. “Or it could just be that one of our parents friends did live in a hotel at some point in the past, and there’s no connection to the Denouements-”

“And Dad just never mentioned Frank because they drifted apart,” added Klaus.

For a moment, the faces of the friends she had had before the fire flashed before her eyes. Even though they all still lived in the same city, Violet couldn’t remember the last time they had spoken. Ben had called a couple of times at Olaf’s, but she remembered how each conversation had grown quieter, shorter, and then there were no more rude knocks on her bedroom door with Olaf derisively announcing that her ‘boyfriend’ was calling. In the years since, she had forgotten just how that one sentence and mirthful glint in Olaf’s eyes had made her seethe, and how she had picked up the phone in the hall with a huffed ‘Hello’ instead of any real enthusiasm for her oldest friend. 

_No wonder he stopped calling,_ Violet glumly realized. 

Yet another misfortune in her life she could trace right back to Olaf. 

No sooner had she felt the familiar wave of bitterness that came whenever her thoughts turned to her first guardian, did Violet found herself countering her own conclusion. _He got us the jobs. He didn’t have to,_ she thought. _And offered real advice._ Despite her intrusive question sending him away, he had come back to help, as if she had never overstepped. 

_Guilt. It’s guilt, nothing more._

After all that his decision had put her and her siblings through, she wanted to believe that he felt guilty, that it all weighed on him at night as he walked about his empty house. For years, that wish had lingered with her as she lay sleepless in bed. 

But, even as she reminded herself that this was all because of whatever small inklings of a conscience Olaf still had, Violet couldn’t stop the weeds of gratitude growing in the cracks of the logic that had sustained her for so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you will forgive me for the long wait for an update and that this chapter contains no direct present day interaction, but it was necessary, and I hope you found some part of it enjoyable. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Whether via a comment or a kudos, I appreciate the feedback!  
> Thank you.


End file.
